Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

Her cell phone chimed in her front shorts pocket, startling her from her thoughts. Marilyn retrieved the device. The cellular display identified Warrick as the caller. She selected the answer option with fumbling fingers. “How are you?”

Warrick’s mind went blank. He hadn’t expected that greeting from Marilyn. But he should have. She’d asked the same question when the Horn had published the photo of them in their kitchen. “I’ve been better.”

“So have I.” Some of the tension had drained from her voice.

“Mary, I don’t know Jordan Hyatt.” Warrick enunciated each word. “I’ve never met her and I’m certainly not having an affair with her. I’d never, ever be unfaithful to you.”

“You don’t need to convince me of something I already know.”

Warrick exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Thank God she still trusted him. He sank into the cushioned chair beside the writing table. “I wanted you to hear me say the words.”

“Why did she call a press conference to tell the greater New York City metropolitan area that she’s pregnant with your child?” Marilyn’s words tumbled over each other.

“I don’t know.” He didn’t understand why the media was trying so hard to destroy his marriage, either. Were they that desperate for sales? Or had he somehow offended every publisher in the city?

“Are you sure that you’ve never met her?”

“I’m positive.” Warrick stared into the middle distance of the view outside his window. Where was Marilyn? The kitchen? The family room? Wherever she was, he wished he could be with her right now.

“Maybe you signed an autograph for her or she attended one of the team’s fund-raisers.” Her voice was strained and breathless.

Warrick sorted through remembered encounters with Monarchs fans. “Most of the people who approach me are kids. There are a few grown men and women who ... don’t dress like her.”

“I can imagine.” Marilyn’s tone was dry. “What are we going to do?”

Outside his hotel room, Warrick heard other guests walking the halls, talking and laughing. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world. He had to believe this media-manufactured drama would end soon.

Warrick rose to pace. “Troy said Andrea Benson is researching Jordan Hyatt’s background to find out what or who put her up to this.”

“Andrea Benson? Isn’t she a reporter?” There was reservation in Marilyn’s response.

“We can trust her. She won’t write a salacious piece about us.”

“The articles she’s written about you in the past seemed fair. But I don’t want any more stories about u

s in the newspapers—or on the television or the radio. I’ve had enough.”

So had he. “I can’t ignore Jordan Hyatt’s lies.”

“Then sue her for slander. I’m done with the media. Let’s take her to court.”

In the background, Warrick identified the sound of ice collecting in a glass. Marilyn was in the kitchen pouring ice water. Not a good sign.

“Think about that, Mary.” He dragged a hand over his head. “A lawsuit brought by a married professional athlete against a woman who is not his wife yet claimed to be pregnant with his child would generate a lot of media coverage.”

The sound of the faucet running carried to his cell phone. Glass hit the tiled counter with unnecessary roughness.

“You have a point.” She didn’t seem happy about it. “But if we can’t avoid the media, we should at least control the message.”

She reminded him of Troy. “What do you mean?”

“If Jordan Hyatt can call a press conference, so can you.”

14

Warrick’s stomach turned at the thought of discussing his personal life in front of a camera. “A press conference would keep the media coverage focused on her lies. It would be my word against hers. I need to know why she’s trying to discredit me.”

“And while we’re keeping silent, the media and that woman will shred your reputation. Doesn’t that bother you?”